A masculine presence hurried through the door behind them, a soft creak alerting Yvonne to his entry. She looked over her shoulder at him and quietly gasped - another dark elf? What an odd coincidence, so many Alerians bumping into each other, though to be fair this was a potion shop. This would be the place to look, if one was searching for dark elves in Akashima. The alchemy, the science; it called to them and they had come.

The words from his mouth - while more than polite - struck Yvonne as unusual, not quite right. The half-and-halfling liked to think the art of communication her forte. Most customers that arrive after others currently being served don’t gratuitously beg forgiveness. They simply wait in line or patiently browse through the wares on offer. She raised an arching eyebrow, gave the one-armed Alerian a look that silently asked what ye be up to? She didn’t say too much to him though - her expression conveyed everything.

“That be quite alright. We won’t be long,” the littlest one said, turning around again to the half-breed nekojin, the crossbow strapped to her back blocking much of the view of her.

Yvonne seriously considered the potion-brewer’s offers of poison. She wasn’t above taking an angle of skulduggery or their deadly use. One needed to do what needed to be done. Poison was an incredibly effective tool in certain situations, particularly those which didn’t involve the poisoner hanging around. Apply to the target, or better - the target’s food or drink and flee immediately to avoid any consequences.

Unfortunately the duo would need more time than poison allowed. People under poison’s effects didn’t often go quietly into that sweet and sombre abyss. They choked, they gagged, spilled their bodily fluids all over the place and made a hell of a scene. In these cases, either a trail of coughed up blood or great swathes of skin peels would litter the area, and neither of those would be subtle. She imagined they would need to blend in among many, stay long enough to extract Lilly’s meteorite and escape again. Yvonne would look to alternatives before murdering old elves and other dwarves over a rock. It just wasn’t worth their lives.

The cat lady grinned for the first time since they’d come in and the sudden change in expression made the diminutive drow feel uneasy. Her instincts had been dead-on - the alchemist’s suggestion of a sex change potion had amused her, broken her ire momentarily. Yvonne giggled nervously, feeling an uncommon bout of uncertainty and indecision. It wasn’t a half bad idea, was it? When one got right down to thinking about it, it was a better idea than face paint and wigs.

“I’d like ta be taller. Blonde would be a lovely change. A high elf woman perchance? We women have our ways of… friendly persuasion that men can’t hope ta match,” Yvonne requested, explaining her line of thinking. The thought crossed her mind afterward, that she’d asked to look like her complete polar opposite. Her skin would change from black to white, her hair from black to blonde, her bone structure, height and curves and slenderness…

“Mayhap I ask too much of ye dear. I hadn’t thought me request through. Could ye brew a potion capable of such dramatic change?” Yvonne asked. Her curiosity had begun to rise the more she thought it over. Surely the alchemist wouldn’t bring up the subject of potion transfiguration just to see their reactions and get a rise out of them? Well, this one would of course. Yvonne herself might have too, in her position. Reactions were very entertaining after all.